


Cartography

by AnnieAmi



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s07e08 The Amazing Maleeni, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, Skinny Dipping, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:53:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26421415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieAmi/pseuds/AnnieAmi
Summary: Mulder and Scully enjoy a date in Santa Monica after their magical case in The Amazing Maleeni.
Relationships: Fox Mulder & Dana Scully, Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 16
Kudos: 105
Collections: X-Files Episode Fanfic Exchange (2020)





	Cartography

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mulderist1013](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mulderist1013/gifts).



> The prompt was as follows: 
> 
> "They are both in a pretty good mood after this case so one or the either decides to hang around Santa Monica a little longer. Maybe hit a bar or check out the sites on the boardwalk. They are definitely in a relationship at this point. It can just be a nice evening for the two of them; they deserve it. I'm not against fluff and/or smut. "
> 
> I tried to stay true to the prompt. Hope I did an adequate job. Enjoy!

The sense of accomplishment rarely comes this easily. X-Files cases, often burdened with a lack of evidence, marred by tenebrous high-powered men and dead ends, will leave them empty and frustrated. But this case was open and shut, the tangled web of deceit, and magic, unwound. 

Maybe this is why Scully is delighted, almost playful, as she turns and walks ahead of Mulder, making her way out of the dusty police station. He is rambling behind her, as she swings open the heavy doors, stepping out into a mild January day, sunlight blinding her momentarily. She waits for her eyes to adjust.

“You really won’t tell me how you did the trick?” he asks, catching up to her. 

Turning to him with a crooked smile across her face and a hand up to her eyes, shielding them against the desert sun, she squints up at him. Scully opens her mouth to say something but reconsiders as she turns silently toward the car.

Stunned, Mulder waits for a beat, then runs up alongside her to the passenger side of the car and opens the door before she can reach for the handle. She cocks an eyebrow at him, not disapprovingly, but with a certain curiosity. He knows this isn’t like them. He is many things: a dreamer, the one making connections in a sea of possibilities, a protector of young girls, and sometimes he is the one howling at the moon. But he isn’t a knight in shining armor rushing ahead of her to open doors or bringing flowers at her doorstep. At least, not in any conventional sense. But he cares for her and hopes he has shown her, hopes he has more opportunities to show her in the months to come.

They are slowly making their way through uncharted territory, an unmapped region of their lives together. Though the quest for the Truth will always be the pinnacle of career goals, Mulder is ready to make peace with his demons. Samantha will always take up a special place in his heart, but another occupant has taken up residency. He has dreamed of a life without Scully, and it was cold and lonely — a true nightmare. He watched the world burn.

And Scully… He kissed her just two weeks ago, and the world didn’t end. She did not — as he suspected she might — go running for the hills, or another assignment. He feels hopeful. Mulder considers this as he navigates the new course of their relationship. 

They ride back to Santa Monica in a companionable silence, coy smiles passed between them like notes in class. It’s been smooth sailing since the new year. The monsters still creep in the night and break into her well-preserved domain, but she doesn’t lift her chin and put on a brave face when he offers her his bed, doesn’t shy away from his embrace. She has sought comfort in his arms, cried in his bed. Tonight he plans to show her how grateful he is that she has let him in. 

“What do you say we leave this ol’ hunk o’ junk at the hotel and go for a walk, Scully?” Mulder breaks the silence as he pulls into the parking lot of the Santa Monica Motel. The small establishment is where the Brady Family would have likely stayed had they needed accommodations on a vacation in Santa Monica, California. Chic enough for a date on a government budget, Mulder had joked upon check-in. And now, on this unusually warm mid-winter afternoon, he has gathered the courage to ask her out on said date. 

“A walk?” Scully asks, licking her lips.

“Yeah,” nods Mulder. “A walk. We’re less than a mile from the Pier. We can buy some popcorn and go for a ride on the Ferris wheel.” He gently nudges her shoulder, adding, “I’ll play a game and win an unnecessarily large teddy bear that you’ll lug around all night..” 

“That’ll be a pain at check-in tomorrow,” she deadpans.

“Or, if you prefer, I’ll take you down to Muscle Beach. I hear there are some real beefcakes showing off there.” He waggles his eyebrows at her. 

“Beefcakes?” Scully pursed her lips, suppressing a smile. “How about we grab some dinner and watch the sunset?”

“Sounds perfect,” Mulder says.

The beach, a mere seven blocks from the hotel, is nearly deserted, save for a few teens playing volleyball at a nearby court. 

It’s cooler at the coast’s edge. A breeze whips around them and they dig their toes in the trodden sand, shoes dangling from fingertips. The Pacific mists at their face and laps at their toes and Scully burrows her heels in deeper. Their feet are buried in the dark sloping sand. 

“The ocean should be inhospitable and freeze by January, not slightly unpleasant,” Mulder interrupts the silence. The New Englander in Mulder will never accept such a mild winter. 

“It’s not that bad once you get used to it. You’d miss the snow, though,” Scully accepts. “So would I. But isn’t it nice being able to enjoy the beach in winter?”

“I don’t have a blanket,” Mulder chides this oversight. 

Scully shuffles back up onto drier ground and sits in the gritty sand. She will not be deterred by this minor setback. Joining her, Mulder unpacks the sandwiches and fries purchased from the stand they passed on their way to lands’ end.

“It’s Friday,” Scully states between bites. 

“We’ll be out of here by tomorrow morning,” he assures her. 

“Weekend plans?” she muses.

Mulder slowly shakes his head, “No. How about you?” 

He hopes her answer is no, that she will ask him over for pizza and a cheesy sci-fi movie, but assumes she will be enjoying brunch, maybe even a pedicure, with her mother. Maybe she will attempt to catch up on some paperwork. But Scully shakes her head as they listen to the gentle waves of low tide roll before them on the fringe of land.

The sun dips slowly into the water, ready to make its journey to the other side of the Earth. It’s still warm on their faces. 

“I’m thinking of selling the Chilmark house,” Mulder tells her matter-of-factly between bites of his sandwich. His gaze is fixed in the distance.

Scully looks at him with gentle surprise and understanding in her eyes. She nods her head and waits for him to elaborate.

“No one goes there anymore,” he offers.

It was true. No one had resided in the small beach house on Martha’s Vineyard in decades. It had become haunted by the ghost of a family that no one acknowledged had existed.

“Take me there. When we get home.” Scully draws up her knees to her chest, hugging them. She sets the remnants of her food aside and watches light scatter on the crystal water as the half-sun descends further. 

“Are you offering to help me clean my waspy family heirlooms?” 

“Yes. But I have an alternate agenda,” she tells him cryptically. 

He eyes her cautiously. “You after the stash of money I hid in the secret wall compartment when I was eight?” 

“Close. Your old room,” she tells him. “I want to see it. Seems only fair, after all these years. It’s the only true way to get to know someone.”

Mulder hums in amusement. “Is that so?”

“Of course. Who you were as a child is written in the posters in your room, old pictures, your music and book collections. Queen or The Rolling Stones? Bradbury or Vonnegut? Who is Fox Mulder really?

“You been profiling me again, Scully?”

“No, but I should. It would help to know who I’m working with.”

He can’t disagree, recalling a recent trip to her mother’s house to bring in the New Year over brunch. He had lost himself in a picture of studious Dana, in oversized glasses, her nose buried in a book. Always striving to know more. He lets these thoughts sit between them as the dying fire of the sun sinks slowly in the ocean and extinguishes. The embers sizzle slowly, painting the sky an array of purples and pinks. 

“Hey, Scully, I can think of something both of our dads had in common.”

She turns to him inquisitively, wondering what their fathers could have had in common. 

Mulder’s head is tilted to one side, eyes lost in the faraway memories of the Vineyard. There were summer barbecues, his father flipping patties on a charcoal grill seaside, chasing Samantha in the sand, racing up large rocks. Before it all came to a screeching and traumatic halt. But maybe there was room to heal there too. Maybe in bringing Scully to the house he could forge new memories for himself and the sting wouldn’t hurt so much.

“The sea.” He smiles gently at her. 

“My dad lived on the ocean, but I forget that you grew up so close to the water too,” she tells him, rubbing his shoulder with a hand. “I can help you clean out the house when you’re ready to sell it. You can retire young, live on a boat, sail the seven seas.”

With a shake of his head, Mulder says, “I’d still be out there chasing aliens and hunting down the truth with you.” He glances at her, hoping she’ll still be by his side in a year. In ten. He has known her mind, caught glimpses of her intentions — noble and steadfast — and believes he is not misreading the situation this time. “As for me, I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts,” he says. 

“Quoting Melville to me is probably the most creative way to try and get in my pants. I’m flattered, honestly.”

Mulder’s voice drops when he asks, “Does that mean I’m getting lucky tonight?”

Her smile gives away nothing and she chose to ignore him. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” 

“I don’t think your pants would fit me, Scully. I’d rip the seams.”

“Mulder, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah. My dad left me the house. “It’s time to move on,” Mulder answers confidently, brightly even. “And,” he adds holding out his hand, “I will forever be grateful and can repay you in the Mulder Family Dogs and Burgers a La Plage.” 

With a gentle tug she is on her feet before him, just a breath too close while she dusts herself off. His eyes fix on her at that moment and she holds his gaze but for a second and her eyes flit away. He feels light and expectant, heart fluttering as no-nonsense Dana Katherine Scully takes his hand in hers and they walk to the Pier like a couple of timid teenagers on a date. 

On the Pier, they are bathed in the technicolor of carnival lights that dance across their faces in the twilight. The arcade is a din of laughing children, and teens vying for the attention of the only girl in their group. 

Scully suggests a game where they throw darts at balloons; she beats him, quickly and with impeccable accuracy. He expects nothing less from her and she doesn’t gloat. When she offers him a chance to redeem himself at the water gun booth, Mulder figures he had better cut his losses because she’s a good shot and mercilessly competitive. 

Beyond the arcade, a young man plays old songs on his acoustic guitar. Mulder drops five dollars in the empty guitar case and requests “Can’t Help Falling In Love With You,” wrapping a tentative arm around Scully’s shoulder. They sway together in time to the ballad. She even rests her head against him and when the song is over, does not pull away.

“Where to next?” asks Scully, leaning into his side as they stroll to the end of the walkway, away from the crowds, where it is dark. They listen to the roar of the waves crashing beneath them. 

“Well, we can go for that Ferris wheel ride I promised, or maybe grab an ice cream cone, and then I can take you back to my motel room for some kissing and heavy petting.”

“Need I remind you that we are on assignment?” she explains straight-faced, fingers gripping his bicep firmly. 

Mulder scrunches his face in thought. “Technically, it’s the weekend. And we did just wrap up the case. Don’t toy with me, Scully.” 

“True,” she acquiesces. “We cracked the case on two very unusual magicians. I don’t know about you, but I feel pretty good about that.”

“Tonight the world is a little safer from those who perform card tricks and turn their heads 360 degrees,” Mulder says grimly.

“Hopefully, those two have learned their lesson. I still can’t believe you figured out how they robbed the armored car,” Scully says. 

“I’m glad I can still impress you.”

“Always.”

“All in a day’s work,” Mulder brushes off the compliment. “What I can’t seem to figure out is how you turned your hand 360 degrees. First, you eat a cricket, now this. You’re a regular Houdini, Scully. What else do you have up your sleeve?”

A secretive sort of grin plays across her face and she won’t look him in the eye. Maybe this will get easier, he thinks. He likes how playful Scully is tonight. 

“So much more, Mulder. So much more,” she finally looks up at him. That smile reminds him of the fresh-faced Dana Katherine Scully who waltzed into his basement brimming with pride and assurance in the temporal world, when she still used her own office and knocked on his before entering. He thinks of the Scully before their nice trips to the forest, before she disappeared, before they buried family members deep in the compact earth, and before a serial killer's bloodstains splattered violently on her living room floor. Tonight Dana Scully seems so light she could touch the moon.

Not pressing his luck, he redirects course. “So what will it be?”

Looking around, she motions to the large wheel. “Let’s go for it.”

Mulder pays for tickets and there is surprisingly no wait this Friday evening, though the boardwalk is filling quickly now. 

They settle into the swinging car, elbows brushing, and leaning into one another as they ascend above the carnival backdrop. An occasional wave rumbles in the distance, reminding them of the deep fathoms below, while the lights of the wheel reflect like a Monet off the water’s surface. This is a view he is accustomed to from countless hours clocked around the world, Scully beside him. They are in their own bubble, on their own time. 

There is a chill as they rise above the commotions, but it is not frigid. It is a welcomed break from hot chocolate and a movie under the Navajo blanket. 

“It’s funny, Mulder,” Scully says with a sharp intake of breath.

“What is?” he asks and turns to face her, and decides that his arm feels right at home around her.

She doesn’t look directly at him. Instead, she focuses across the abyss of the water, seemingly lost in thought. “I used to feel that going in circles was better than tiny steps forward and then back, because at least the perpetual motion would give the illusion of progress. Instead, we were forced to retreat. It felt like failure every single time. All of the monsters pushing us back. I never thought we would be able to move forward, so I wished for a circle.”

She doesn’t explain what she means; if the monsters holding them back are the ones they hunt down, or the personal monsters holding them back from their own desires. Probably both, he muses, but it doesn’t seem to matter either way anymore. 

Mulder eyes her cautiously like he’s afraid she might clamp shut. “But now we’re moving forward?” 

“We’ve made significant progress in the last few months,” Scully smiles into the star-speckled sky. “We’ve come miles from that night at Groom Lake.”

He recalls that late night in the desert, dust billowing around them as they stepped out of the car into the dusty landscape. Another night, another road, another rental car carrying them nowhere in particular. 

“No one’s really gotten out of the car,” Mulder observes and the wheel continues to turn. 

“No,” she agrees at length, “but the car has been redirected and is headed on an optimal route. Might even reach its destination soon, I’d say,” Scully tells him.

“To something resembling a normal life?”

“What is normal?” she shakes her head. “I always thought of my parents’ relationship as normal — and they loved each other — but my dad was gone for months at a time, leaving my mom to raise four kids alone. The battles she fought with us over the silliest things. We didn’t make it easy on her. And then Ahab would come home, barking orders and expecting results. And that’s not necessarily normal. But they were happy. And that counts for a lot.”

“I can’t remember normal or happy,” Mulder says matter-of-factly, an acceptance of the life he’s been dealt. “The only time my life felt remotely stable was when I was on the move. In England, at Quantico, chasing down the devil, on the road. With you. So I keep moving.”

Scully nods understandingly. “That makes sense. If my home life fell apart, I’d want to keep moving too.”

“Well, maybe I’m just running, but I do believe that you just need to find the right person to keep running with,” he poses.

“That does make the inertia of forward motion distinctly more pleasant,” she agrees.

They have crested; the view wide and expansive as they rock gently. 

“You know, this is the only over-water Ferris wheel in California.” Mulder informs her. 

“Did you know that this is the first solar-powered Ferris wheel?” she counters.

“It’s also poised at the very end of Route 66. Imagine the joy of driving your family across the country to wind up here, high above the water. You can see heaven from here, Scully.” He lifts his gaze up to the starry night and breathes in deeply.

“Mulder, that particular fact was posted on the sign at the entrance of the Pier.”

“Fine,” Mulder says, a hint of teasing in his voice. 

“Are you aware that though Charles Looff, the man who designed and built the Coney Island Carousel, found the Santa Monica Pier a perfect place for his newest carousel back in 1916, the Ferris wheel wasn’t built until 1996?” Scully states with finality. 

Mulder grins and lets her have the last word.

Eventually, the people and attractions grow bigger and the ocean fades into the background. The ride is over. Scully disembarks first and Mulder follows with an athletic leap down. She can’t help but grin at his youthful charm. 

Scully wraps an arm around his as they make their way wordlessly through the crowd and down to the beach. It is dark by the surf, the neon lights a mirage behind them.

“Tell me more about Burgers a La Plage,” Scully prompts, toeing off her shoes. She shuffles her feet into the sand, sighing at the familiarity while Mulder struggles with his laces a few paces behind. 

“Just slide them off, Mulder.”

He scoffs, “I am not a barbarian,” and then his feet are freed, socks discarded carelessly. 

“So…” she reminds him as he comes up beside her. Arms linked, water laps at their ankles and Scully drags her toes listlessly in the wet sand.

“Well,” he begins, “I’ll build a bonfire in the front, do some manly grillin’. Meanwhile, you’ll be cleaning, packing, doing laundry, dishes. Women’s work.”

Scully rolls her eyes but does not pull away. 

“No. We’ll clean and pack all day. You can judge me on the books in my room and posters on my walls…”

“Not to mention your preppy house,” she jokes, and Mulder considers this for a moment. What must she think of his privileged Yankee upbringing? He thinks of the Navy-issued cookie cutter homes of her youth. Had she turned her nose up at rich kids in fraternities, the forced camaraderie of families who had too much money and time on their hands?

“Right, that too,” he smiles. "But I think I turned out respectable in the end." 

“Pretty damn respectable,” she agrees.

“Then, in the evening we’ll roast marshmallows. Do you know any good ghost stories?” he asks.

“Maybe one or two,” Scully quips, nudging his arm. “But I don’t believe they’re real.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Mulder acknowledges.

Looking behind them, Scully says, “I think we passed the hotel.”

He follows her gaze back and shrugs. Time is on their side tonight. There are no conspiracies to unravel or crimes to solve and, besides the fact that he cannot discern how Scully can turn her arm 360 degrees, he has the overwhelmingly accomplished feeling of having captured John Wayne and David Copperfield. 

Scully unravels her arm from his, eyes transfixed in the distance. “Let’s go for a swim,” she says quietly, and he wonders if he has heard her correctly. 

She scans the beach and the water, as if gathering courage, or maybe her wits. “Come on,” she whispers back to him.

“That water has to be freezing!” Mulder calls after her as she walks further into the water. “And, maybe this is just a minor setback, but I forgot my trunks.” He can’t imagine what is going through her head now. This is not the all-business partner who has fought beside him for years; not the doctor suited up with mask and scalpel. This is a curious siren beckoning him into uncharted territory.

“It’s probably between 55 and 60 degrees. Hypothermia won’t set in for a couple of hours,” she muses once he’s by her side, placing her jacket neatly in the sand. She begins to unbutton her blouse slowly in front of him, unwrapping herself like a late Christmas gift. 

As she turns back to the water, her shirt slides off her shoulders and joins the jacket, forming a neat pile with her shoes. They are cloaked in shadows. It is welcomed and familiar, almost comforting. He looks around, but the beach is empty. This deserted stretch of land is theirs tonight. 

A glimmer of half moon coats Scully’s shoulders. One bra strap hangs lazily down her arm. Mulder can’t tear his eyes away and Scully does not seem to mind. 

“You’ll get sick,” he cautions, but she has already found the zipper at her hip, and is sliding it down, as answer to his warning. Mulder is speechless as Scully thumbs the pants down her legs, the jut of her hips accentuated where she is bent at the waist. And when she straightens, dropping her trousers in the pile, she is clad in only her bra and underwear. 

The light is too dim here to see the color of her most intimate articles of clothing. Pink, he thinks. Maybe mauve. Either way, the thin material glistens in the silvery light of night. Scully stands motionless on the cusp of sand and sea, feet awash with foamy brine, taking in the salty air.

“Come on, Mulder,” she motions for him to join her. “The water’s not bad.” 

Mulder does not comprehend what series of events have led them to this spot, where his partner, shed of clothes and propriety, is insisting that he join her for a naked romp in the Pacific. 

He is unable to formulate a response as her arms reach behind her to unclasp her bra. 

Mulder is entranced by the elegant stretch of muscle under delicate skin, her spine arching. He is frozen as her bra joins the pile of garments. And with a swift motion, Scully’s underwear is gone. 

Scully is all satin and soft curves, with the modesty of a nude hanging in the Louvre. Her skin reflects what little light there is. With one last backward glance, she advances and then disappears head first into the black water. 

It feels like a dare, the way they push each other’s professional and intellectual limits. Only now she is asking for something much more personal. He hesitates momentarily before discarding his shirt, jacket, and pants in a heap and reluctantly tests the water again.

Mulder shivers against the icy grips of the Pacific and mutters under his breath, disposing of his boxer briefs. She has left him no choice and he will follow her into unknown depths. 

He is trudging his long legs through cold water, searching for Scully. The water stings his legs. He’s followed her to more frigid temperatures, and god help him if he was going to miss swimming naked with Scully.

He hears her splashing ahead and the rush of waves crashing on the shore behind, but she eludes him.

“Scully?” he calls out, but he cannot spot her in the inky midnight.

He swims out to where the water is chest-deep when Scully emerges next to him, holding onto his shoulders to remain above water. Their bodies are mere centimeters apart and she is out of breath, a slippery mermaid swiping at the hair clinging to her face. 

“Hey, what are you doing,” he whispers. “You’re going to get us both sick.” His hands move to her waist, anchoring her. 

“What’s wrong Mulder? You never gone skinny dipping before?” Her face is so close that she pants onto his cheeks and lips. He can almost taste her and with that coquettish look behind heavy-lidded eyes, he thinks she may devour him too.

“I’ve been skinny dipping. At night, even. Never in the ocean, though.”

“First time for everything,” she breathes as water sways their bodies so that they are nearly touching, the peaks of her breasts grazing his chest with each sweep. It is painfully sexy to have this wet, impulsive Scully against him, and though his body has acclimated to the water, he is thankful it isn’t warmer. No need to have any unwelcome surprises pop up now.

“What are we doing out here?” he asks gently into her hair. 

“We’re floating,” Scully replies simply. “Well, I’m floating.”

Mulder nods. “I can see that.” He nuzzles the crown of her head, bodies making full contact in the sloshing ocean, her arms around his neck gripping firmly. He can feel every inch of her glide up against him with each ripple of water. 

“It’s liberating,” she says breathily. 

“Being naked?” 

She doesn’t respond, but looks up at him with an intensity that is familiar and reassuring and distinctly them. Arms secure more tightly around his neck bringing her up along his torso, and he kneads the dip in her hips, fingers roaming lower down her backside. 

A whimper escapes through pursed lips. She is flush against him now. They are tethered and their breathing becomes heavy and loud. Mulder cannot believe how incredibly smooth Scully is against him, their bodies slick with water.

Mouths inch closer, a sweet heat between them, and Mulder tilts his head to the side.

“Seriously, Scully, what are we doing out here?” 

“Testing the waters, Mulder,” she says between lazy blinks. 

“And what are the results?”

“Outcome is yet to be determined, but I expect a positive conclusion.” 

“You’ll have to keep me posted, then.” Mulder runs a thumb over her bottom lip.

“You’ll be the first person I call,” she assures him. Her lips part and they kiss; slowly tasting, tentatively touching. Then her mouth opens wider and she kisses him with the intensity of a soldier returned from sea, deepening their connection and shedding years of restraint. When he is kissing her like this, the rest of the world melts away and he cannot think. There is no water and no sky, no land and no stars. Just Scully’s warmth and comfort.

Their limbs are a tangle of exploration. Fingers and tongues and legs entwined and, despite the cold, he is so hard against her that when she wraps her legs around him, she slides along his erection. The electricity buzzes and sparks between them. Each touch burns him. 

Mulder breaks the kiss to ask, “Are you sure about this, Scully?” 

“Yes, Mulder,” she says with certainty. “We’ve waited long enough.”

Then, with one quick motion, he is poised at her entrance, and Scully moves along his length once more until he is deep within her. The waves set a tender unhurried rhythm and they rock with the ease of the current. 

Mulder stares into the deep grey pools of her eyes, fiercely trained on him. They are his safe haven, his sanctuary. If he is the wayward water, she is land, the home that he always comes back to. 

Nails tease the skin at the beck of his neck and her teeth sink into his shoulder. As Scully peaks, he gives himself permission to let go. Her contractions ripple around him, and the water churns turbulent with their friction. It does not subside until their breathing has slowed and hearts have stopped thumping wildly. 

And just as suddenly as she had kissed him, Scully breaks loose and swims for shore, concealed again by waves. Mulder, dumbstruck, makes for land, wondering which Scully awaits him back on solid ground. He hopes she does not instantly regret their night, thinks maybe she will make an excuse and apologize for her erratic behavior. But after they quietly dress, damp skin making it difficult to pull on clothes, she takes his hand into hers. Shivering, dripping on sand and then cement, they make their journey back to the hotel with arms wrapped around each other.

“You didn’t happen to bring a sleeping bag we can crawl into naked to generate some heat, did you?” Scully asks, teeth chattering.

“No, but I hear the effect is similar if you crawl naked into bed with someone who is already naked,” replies Mulder, hugging her closer.

Later, when they are drying off in his room, towels and clothes strewn about the floor, Mulder wonders about this new Scully. She knows magic and seduced him in the ocean. He attempts to reconcile this new version with the logical rule-follower he knows so well. 

They shiver side-by-side on the bed and listen to the TV in the background. The Creature from the Black Lagoon is on, but they are only half watching. 

“You okay?” Mulder asks, pulling the motel comforter around them.

“Yeah, finally warming up,” Scully answers, and they both lower their heads onto a pillow, facing each other. 

“That was some night, huh?”

“It was quite the adventure. Even for us.”

“Skinner won’t like me showing up to work frostbitten again, you know.”

She scoffs. “Don’t you think you’re being a tad dramatic? This is hardly the arctic.”

He smiles gently at her, remembering cases in cold, arid landscapes. “No, you’re right,” he says rubbing her arm. “Somehow I think I’ll live.”

They are silent for a few moments, movie screams filling the room. Scully yawns, her lids drooping. In a few short hours they will be on a plane heading home and he wonders if this new Scully will disappear in a cloud of smoke.

“Hey, Scully.”

“Hmm?” she responds with eyes closed.

“How did you do it?” he tries, again, to coax the secret out of her. 

But Scully turns and settles her naked back against him, mumbling something incoherent, and drifts off to sleep taking her magic and her secret with her.

**Author's Note:**

> Kristin - Thank you for your endless encouragement! 
> 
> Sarie Fairy - Your beta work was AMAZING! You saw things in this story that I didn't. Thank you!
> 
> Sarah Blair - Amazing friend and writer! Your suggestions made this fic better. I didn't take all your suggestions, but I appreciate all of your opinions. Thank you again. 
> 
> Stevie - Thanks for putting up with my crap again.


End file.
